


force-filled smile

by vaultboii



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Five Times Prompt, Fluff, Fluff and a tid bit of angst, Gen, M/M, Pre-Rogue One, kisses and that cute stuff, smiles for all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 06:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9479555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultboii/pseuds/vaultboii
Summary: five times chirrut smiled at baze, and the one time baze smiled back.set before rogue one.





	

**Author's Note:**

> saw rogue one, and, by the unholiness of feels, that movie killed me.
> 
> here's a fic of me crying over these precious children.

 

  1. _rescue from the gang_



The blind man who trained under the monks wasn’t that important until the day they met.

It was at the market. He was minding his own business; drinking the stale liquid the locals had fed him, contemplating life in the depths of his bottle with what he assumed—giving the unnerved glances locals peered at him from behind their own misery drinks—a look that seemed to melt the bottom of his drink until the bartender came over to give him another. He wasn’t sure if it was the recent job (a real piece of work, that job _was_ ) that sent him here or just existence on its own. He wouldn’t give another _shit_ if it was both.

Banishing the thoughts from his mind, he raised his glass for another. How many has he had? He wasn’t sure how many he had had. ‘Course, that didn’t matter. He absolutely gave zero given _shits_ about the state of his mind.

And then he saw him.

Not a good view, at first. From the edge of the door he was facing, he could make out the man at the edge of his view, a good several metres from him and out of his _‘giving-a-shit’_ bubble. He was perched gawking like some lost traveller on the street, walking limply with a cane and a loose-fitting smile on his face. He stuck out worse than a Sith in the neighbourhood of the Jedi.

He didn’t pay him any mind at first. Went back to his drink, nursing it while keeping a relaxed hold onto his rifle, if anyone tried to pull anything on him. Locals knew better than to mess with him, but he kept his rifle beside him all the same.

Then the shouting began.

His eyes went up slowly, but he kept his seating on the stool. There were locals crowding at the door, and he returned to his drink. Local fight, probably. Nothing to do with him. He took a sip, listened into the fight anyways.

It was his voice that made the back of the hairs on his neck stand up.

“I’m merely stating that I sense the force is strong here, and I’d like to investigate this tremendous energy—” said the man, and Baze swore that was the _damn_ most _optimistic_ voice he had ever heard. His rifle went up a tad, but he blamed that on nerves mixed with his drink. Bad ideas tended to happen with alcohol around.

“Force? Ha, yeah, the _force._ And we’re asking you; give us your damn loot, and we’ll leave you alone.” Another voice shot out, heavy above the murmurs of the crowd. He almost stood up, but stopped. That was a stupid idea. There were always fights in this type of crowd, he noted to himself as he raised his drink numbly again to his lips. Always there was someone getting beaten down. There was no need for him to get involved.

“And, I told you, I have nothing of value for you.” The man’s voice was strong and confident. It sounded out of place for an area like this. The buzz in his head soured to an unpleasant ringing, and he shook his head as if to rid himself of it. His drink removed itself from around his lips. “Now, let me pass before things get uglier than this crowd.”

“Oh, we’ll let you pass, alright.” The thug snorted, and then there was a loud crack.

He stood up.

“Excuse me,” he snarled as he pushed through the crowd of onlookers. He repeated himself louder as he shoved through a few stubborn people who were in the way. _What was he doing?_ His mind swore to go back, _go back to drowning yourself in self-pity and moping._ He didn’t listen to sanity, and his legs kept moving forward. The rifle was trained by hands guided by a power that wasn’t him to switch the safety off. “Excuse me.”

When his possessed body finally reached in front of the crowd, there was a group of thugs around the man, kicking and punching; he could not tell innocent from guilty here as the crowd swarmed quietly around them. The rifle trained on a few on top of the man.

He hesitated, but his body was already pulling the trigger.

“You alright?” He gruffly asked as the last thug fell to an ungraceful death on the concrete. The crowd quickly dispersed, and he heard enforcers en route towards their position. _What the actual shit was he doing._ His impulsive ass decided shutting up his minds whining was the way to go.

“I had that, you know.” The man said, wiping blood from his mouth. White pupils stared unseeing past him, as if trying to determine where the source of sound was coming through. His cane lay unmeshed next to him. He noticed the man’s knuckles were chapped in bruises and scrapes. “You didn’t need to intervene.”

He should’ve been mad at the mocking tone of the monk-like. He should’ve been furious—maybe even demanded repayment— maybe even fired the rifle and been done and over with it.

He didn’t.

“You’re blind,” was the wrath-starved answer that came from his mouth.

“Well, aren’t you the observant type?” The man laughed back with a giddy excitement that could _not_ be humanely possible. “Care to help me up?”

“I’d watch your mouth, if I were you,” Baze heard himself say, and he forgot his rage at the laughter. It was like the joy sucked the whole fight out of him, and he found himself hating it. Reluctantly, he bent over and helped the blind man to his feet. “What’s your name?”

“Chirrut, my rescuer.” The blind man laughed, and shone that loose-fitting smile in his direction. “Even if it was unneeded, many thanks for the assist, dear friend.”

“I’m not your friend. I’m just a guy who happened to be passing by with some warnings.” He snapped. The smile didn’t falter. He wished it did. He wished he could’ve stayed on his fat ass in the bar drinking his sorrows away with that happy buzz drowning out screams. “Here’s one; get your head out of the clouds.”

“Ah, but how does one remove themselves of something they aren’t in?” Chirrut replied, and then somehow fit that crooked grin onto his face again without removing it. His teeth sparkled in the sunlight.

He found himself at a loss of words. He blamed it on the drinks.

“Well, hope you find whatever the damn hell was so important in this hole.” He murmured, relaxing his rifle to half a hold. He stepped away the blind man, cocking the rifle on his shoulder. “Better tell me when you find it, and I get half of whatever you get off it.”

“Ah, that.” The man could not sound any more encouraged, but he managed it anyway. “I found what the force was guiding me to. You.”

He forgot how to speak. The blind man didn’t stop there, but turned around waving a hand towards him as if dismissing a wife. “Farewell, my fellow friend. May the force grant our paths to cross again.” The man gave his farewell, and then walked away.

He watched the blind man slowly hobble away, and thought about how bad of an idea it was to leave his drink.

* * *

 

  1. _Being hired_



They told him he’d be partnered up with a master when he joined.

He just didn’t expect it to be **him _._**

“You’re kidding me,” was all he forced out from beneath gritted teeth when he watched the same loose-fitting smile beam up at him.

“I’m afraid she isn’t.” Chirrut replied, and that irritating calmness of his voice sank over his skin. He shook off the peacefulness. The blind man’s face kept facing towards him, but the man addressed their company. “Are you requesting a duel, miss?”

“Yes,” the monk watching them answered with a quiet amusement. He almost felt angry. Betrayed. He thought about how he should have never decided to leave his drink in the first place where this all began. “Begin when you feel up to it.”

“Very well.” Chirrut stepped back a few paces, but he kept to his area of ground. A duel, huh? He eyed the blind man. Shouldn’t be that hard, if he remembered the market fight good enough. Shouldn’t be that hard.

“Apologies for this.” Chirrut said, lifting his staff above the ground slightly. He let himself loosen. Just a practice duel, right?

And then the man leapt forward with such vigour that he barely had enough time to put his defenses up until the staff struck him by the side of the head with a glaring blow. It hurt, but not enough to daze him completely.

A blur and the stick jabbed at his ribs. He felt himself clench in his gut, and swung to where the direction of attack came from. A prod at his back teased him, and then he swung back.

Another blow, on the same part of his head. He angrily swerved around.

The attack came. He dodged, and struck the man in the face.

Chirrut fell to the ground, and stayed there. He almost felt something like guilt snap up in him.

“Fascinating,” said the one who watched them, voice with an intrigued vibe. Her face was lined with something that could be considered a smile. “I must tell the others of this interesting development.”

“Ah,” was all he said about this, and forced himself to walk slowly over to the limp body of Chirrut. A groan, and the man slowly sat up.

“I’m sorry about that,” Baze heard himself say to the not-unconscious blind man. Chirrut seemed to acknowledge his presence near him. “Reflexes.”

“You’re good,” the dazed blind man said back, and his loose-fitting grin raised to a shimmering smile that struck him harder than the staff the man bore. “Very good. What’s your name?”

“Baze.” He answered with a pause. He held out a hand and helped the blind man upwards. “You, too.”

The man let him lift him upwards, and before Baze could stop it, he had his hand over where he had struck Baze with his staff. It stung, but with a bitter sweetness he relished. “By the Force,” Chirrut said with a visible astonishment in his words, “that didn’t even dent. How thick is your skull?”

He dropped the now-laughing man at his feet, and refused to help him up even to the amused monk’s pleas.

* * *

 

  1. _First friendly argument_



It was on their way back to their shared quarters. He was draining his first drink—Chirrut did not drink on “ _work-nights_ ”, as the blind man put it (not even a taster, Baze had saw with a pretense of indignant rage)—and there was a rather calm air between them this night.

“What is even the crap they serve here?” He deadpanned, setting the empty glass on a table.

“I wouldn’t know,” Chirrut mocked, settling for his mattress at the edge of the room. He noticed he wasn’t fingering his rifle for the first time from coming here, and stared at his empty hand. It didn’t even itch without the weight of the gun for the first time. A part of him blamed Chirrut for this new development. “Some of us put our duties before our stomachs, you know.”

“Ah, take your cane and shove it where the Force don’t flow.” He snapped back, but without the usual harshness.

Chirrut noticed this too. “Well, someone’s feeling brighter than usual. Has the Force finally gotten through that thick skull of yours?” The man questioned, blind eyes seeming to shine with his teasing. “I doubt it.”

“You doubt well.” He collapsed on his mattress with a huffy gasp. About ten years of stress slid off his back and into the comfy pillows. “Imagine; Baze discovering the force! It would take a _death_ to do that to me.”

“Hopefully not.” Chirrut replied, folding himself into a meditative stance. “Hopefully someday you’ll look into that glass of yours and see the Force scowling back at you instead of the normal.”

“I do not have a scowling expression,” he muttered to the ceiling. He had learned over the past year that Chirrut could tell expressions rather well even without his eyes. “It’s called my normal default look.”

“Mmm. Says the grump.” Chirrut hummed. “If I had eyes, I’d replicate your beautiful sneer.”

“Well, maybe if your jokes were funny, I’d have other expressions,” he gritted out from his clenched teeth trying so hard not to laugh, and Chirrut beat him to that laughter with that beaming smile of his. “Makes it easier to stick close to me anyway; ‘ _the one with the scowl is my amazing partner’_ , think you can remember that?”

Chirrut snorted, smile so infectious he had to tear his eyes away before he found himself grinning. “Better than you can remember lunch time.” His friend added as a finishing retort, and then they fell silent muffling their laughter. Somehow they ended near each other, Chirrut carefully meditating next to his ruffled form.

“Besides, with hair like this, I wouldn’t lose you any way.” The blind man said, and brushed a hand through his strands of black.

* * *

 

  1. _first date (ish)_



It wasn’t a drill routine this time.

He never expected war to be this sudden. Troopers marched into the church, and their comrades were falling like flies all around them, shot down by the access amount of ammo the opposing side was using. His rifle was humming hot in his hands; worse so was his forehead, burning from the excess sweat of stress. Somehow the thought of grabbing a drink was on his mind; after this was all over, he told himself, he was going to go down to the bar with Chirrut and drink until the images of death were an afterthought in his mind. Maybe Chirrut would have a glass today. _Probably not_ , he reconsidered as his friend tore past him, staff glowing in enthusiasm. _Chirrut would rather kiss an idiot than drink booze._

He ignored where his thoughts led him about who that said idiot was.

“Well, this is invigorating.” The blind man finally popped up next to him, no smile, only a thin line where it used to be. Perhaps the realism of the scenario had finally dawned on the poor optimistic man. He found himself wishing this whole ordeal could’ve waited until they were dead or moved elsewhere to happen just to have that smile on the man’s face again. He pushed that thought away. He did not need to sound like a sap on the battlefield. War was going to find them eventually.

“Indeed.” He fired the blaster rifle again, felt the searing heat beneath his palms numb to nothing. They began to race forward as the trooper forces around them began to number greatly. “We’re still getting a drink tonight, right?”

Chirrut only grunted as a trooper overtook them, blaster alit in fire. “Perhaps.” The blind man grabbed his arm as a wide shot chipped the wall near them. “Depending if you properly ask me out.”

His brain stopped functioning, but his rifle arm was still doing good. “D-Date?” He stuttered; he blamed that on adrenaline. Lack of drinks. Anything, but how his face was heating up even more. “You want to go on a d-date with me?”

“Absolutely. But let’s save that for another time,” Chirrut stated monotone, then turned to aim his firing rifle at a trooper that had materialized at the edge of the huge room they were in. The man’s hand went around his, and fire shot through his veins. The trooper went down. At that sound, the man turned around and flashed a quick, stubborn as ever grin that threatened to make him wish he could remove it somehow. “When we’re not in risk of death.”

“That—That would be nice.” He finally got out, and then followed the man deeper into combat.

* * *

 

  1. _partnership goals_



The Church had fallen.

“You could’ve been killed,” he angrily snarled over Chirrut’s bleeding body, letting the man limp forward with an arm around his shoulder, crimson patches staining where lucky troopers had the opportunity to hit him. Swears echoed through his head; he left his hand lingering on the man’s shoulder when they stumbled into their new hideout, and kept it there when he lowered the man down onto his old mattress. “You could’ve been _killed_ —what were you thinking, going back in there like some half-assed fool trying to save a Church that was doomed from the start?”

“The Force said,” Chirrut began, but he wasn’t having any of that.

“There is no force! There has never been force!” He yelled down at the wounded man; somewhere, something told him to stop but he was not going to listen. He never did, no matter how many times he tried to grind the information in the blind man’s head. Taking out medicine, he began to treat the wounds on Chirrut with the basic blaster-would recovery knowledge he knew. Chirrut hissed at the cleaning, and he only scowled more. “There has been only you, and your insane ideas about how this great mystical secret to life has been guiding you all your life! The Force is going to kill you someday; what will I do if you die?”

“Use me as a martyr and move forward,” Chirrut gasped, a half-smile upon his lips, and he almost could’ve strangled him.

He slapped him. Hard.

 “Ow!” Chirrut laughed, and avoid his second slap on the side of the head with a growing smile. “Careful—you’re going to make my headache worse, grumps. Ow!”

He could swear at how irritated he was. He could almost feel relieved anxiety settle below his ribs at the fact Chirrut was feeling better, though. “I’ll give you a grumps, you ungrateful piece of _shi--_ ”

Chirrut laughed again, sat up and kissed him.

* * *

 

  1. _smile_



Today had been long.

 “You look like absolute shit,” Chirrut joked when he entered the new small hideaway they were stationed in. The man was in basic meditation pose, and he could bet his _people-friendly_ personality on that his lover had been sitting there for the last five hours trying to connect to the Force. It had been a while since the Church fell. Chirrut never stopped trying to connect since that day.

A part of him wished the Force (if there was the Force) could hurry up with the whole revealing thing. It would make his partner a lot more bearable during rants.

“New job. Bad pay.” He bit his lip, sitting next to the man with a hefty breath. “Worst company to be with, besides you. Had to kill the guy to get him to shut up.”

“Bet the guy didn’t like that.” Chirrut’s optimistic tone faded just a bit at the mention of death. They liked to keep what Baze did for a living under the table. The former-monk didn’t like the mentions of those types of death. “Besides; am I really that annoying?”

“You already know the answer to that,” Baze huffed, and there was a chuckle.

“Well, if the jobs come to the worst, we could always go around beating up thugs like you did for me,” Chirrut added with a fresh mockery. His hands somehow found Chirrut’s in the space between them. “Go back to the good old roots.”

“And what would you do? Be the bait?” He eyed the man up and down, not that Chirrut could feel his scrutinizing glare. “You still fit the part.”

“Ah, perhaps.” Chirrut smiled, and it was still as beautiful as before. “You still fit the old grump part too.”

He didn’t say anything to that, but his mouth twitched. He found himself grinning, beaming, replicating the man across him.

“You’re smiling,” Chirrut noted, and then the blind man’s hands were tracing his face, over his lips as if to make sure. “Is this the right man I’m with?”

“Hilarious,” he tried to scoff, but with Chirrut in front of him, he couldn’t. “Is this the same idiot I’m stuck with?”

“The same idiot you fell for, yes.” Chirrut reminded him, and he wondered if the man would ever stop teasing. Probably never. “All those years ago.”

“It’s been about five,” he admitted, not that it’s surrender to the obviously not-as-superior Chirrut’s intellect. The blind man kept tracing his lips, and he slowly felt himself leaning forward into the touch. “When you went and got yourself beaten up by those thugs.”

“I was yet a wee man-child in the world of evil,” Chirrut retorted back, and yes, they were leaning closer to each other. He felt his hands wrap around Chirrut’s back, and Chirrut’s hands slowly went away from his lips to the sides of his face. “Your hair hasn’t changed since then.”

“Leave my beautiful hair out of this,” he murmured, but it did nothing to break the escalating mood between them. Slowly, he realized there was the littlest of gaps between their mouths, and Chirrut was in his lap, and it only took a lean to finish this.

He muttered the words. “I hate you.”

“And I love you too,” Chirrut whispered against the space between their lips, and then he pushed forward and let himself taste that damn irritating smile.

He pretended that he didn’t smile in the kiss too.

**Author's Note:**

> I might add a second chapter for during rogue one. You know. To kill me, and everyone else.
> 
> edit: i wrote this at one in the morning, completely forgetting that baze has a cannon, not a rifle. eh. close enough.


End file.
